Backlash
by EtherealCrescent
Summary: In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's wishes.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count:** 2,270

**Author's Note: **I _really_ like this piece so I hope you will too. Let me know what you think! Enjoy :)

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**i.**

_It gains the more it gives _  
_And then it rises with the fall_  
_So hand me that remote_  
_Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow?_

- "Let Go" Frou Frou

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"I should try again…" the man's eyes are large and blank and confused.

"You did try."

"But it has to work right? You said it would work."

The older man leans hard on his cane as he considers this.

"Magic is unpredictable here Bae. It may not have been enough this time. I don't know what to tell you."

The older man reaches out but before he can lay a hand on the shoulder he is searching for, the younger man pulls away from him.

"You can tell me that you'll fix this. Use your _magic_," the word is said so spitefully that it'd be obvious to all that there is a long story behind his scorn of it, "for something good. Do something right with it _for once_."

With each man so involved in their conversation as they are, neither notice the onlooker just down the hallway.

Hook watches this exchange from his place just around the corner as Rumpelstiltskin comforts the man Killian has found out is his son, _Milah's son_, and who he has also come to realize shares a rather complicated past with Emma. Watching this is something that twists Hook's stomach into knots, seeing this other side of his foe, having to witness his crocodile be more than just a monster. How dare he attempt to use those vile hands to both comfort and rip out hearts. It's sickening.

But today, the heavy, rotting, leaden feeling always stewing in the pit of Hook's stomach is missing and the constant voice in the back of his head whispering songs of revenge and promises of _'you'll feel better when you get even'_ is silent for once.

He is not here for Rumpelstiltskin.

Hook remains in his spot out of sight and watches the pair recede further down the hospital hall with narrowed eyes, his foe surely making promises to find a solution. If even just for that, Hook's seething hatred for the man diminishes just a bit. He truly hopes that some magic cure will indeed be found.

With the hall finally looking empty now, Hook had already waited until night to come here, he is just about to turn the corner and head towards his destination when two others exit the room. He recognizes them immediately, Snow White and Prince Charming, Emma's parent's—_what a bloody surprise that had been_—and since he had been warned he would not be welcomed, playing both sides as he had in the altercation which had led to this, Hook stays put.

"It's okay," Charming is saying into Snow's hair as he holds her, "Everything is going to work out fine. She'll be okay Snow."

Hook can't see her face from where he's hiding but he can tell that she's crying by the tremble of her shoulders. Her first words are inaudible, smothered by Charming's shirt but if Hook had to guess he'd say they resembled 'I can't take seeing her like that David.'

Her next words are a little clearer and Hook can make those out, "After everything we've gone through to be a family again. It can't end like this. _It can't._"

"_It won't,_" Charming urges, "Emma is a strong girl. She'll make it Snow. You know that."

"But Neal's k-…" she stammers over her own words and trails off. Hook wonders what she'd been going to say. Anything about his Crocodile or his crocodile's son interests him.

"I don't give a damn about that," David grasps her face in his hands, "And you shouldn't either. We'll find a way."

Snow looks up at him and they share a long, private—_as far as they know_—look. And a few moments later, Hook watches as Snow nods her head and seems to stand up straighter, looking taller than he remembers her being.

"I need to get cleaned up for when Emma wakes up," she says. And the belief heard plainly in her voice, the conviction that Emma _will_ in fact wake up, is astounding. Hook has to admit that he's a little impressed and despite what he'd initially thought, he is not so sure anymore about which parent Emma actually gets her strength from. "She'll feel guilty if she sees how worried we've all been," Snow continues.

Hook thinks he sees Charming smile down at her but he can't quite hear what _his highness_ says next since he's too busy leaning as casually as possible and smirking at the nurse who exits one of the rooms right next him.

The nurse flusters and smiles—actually he thinks he remembers this one from his short stay shackled up here—and continues along her merry way, but by the time Hook sneaks a look around the corner again David and Snow are gone.

He waits a few more seconds this time, just to make sure that no one else is going to turn up, and then he makes his way down the hospital corridor.

When his hand closes around the doorknob, he hesitates—maybe he shouldn't be here, perhaps he should stay away like everyone had warned—but then he is turning the knob and slipping inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

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Hook doesn't know how long he's just been standing there.

It hasn't been many weeks since their places were switched and he was the one laying in a bed much like the one Emma is in now but—there was _no way_ that he had looked so frail, so fragile… _had he_? It's disconcerting to see the strong woman he knows look like that.

Killian approaches the bed, and with each step he expects her to wake up, to glare at him as amusingly as she always does, to _something_, but Emma stays just as still as when he'd first entered, the machine hooked up to her emitting the same repetitive beeping rhythm.

Her blonde hair lays rumpled against the soft white pillow under her head and her skin is sallow. She looks drained but not lifeless, as if she is just deeply sleeping—which he supposes is the truth—-and her face is calm. Hook thinks that none of it has diminished the beauty of her at all.

He stands still.

_This is his fault._

Not entirely, sure, but he is still partly to blame. You can't play both sides of good and evil, not that either are as black and white as some like to assume but in this case it had been obvious which side was the right one. In this case it had been clear because Emma had been on it.

Perhaps if he had fought on the right side, he could have prevented this. If he hadn't been so dead set on his revenge, the only other person in the last 300 hundred years who had seemed to even remotely and genuinely care about him wouldn't be laying in this little room, fighting—_and he knew Emma was fighting_—a death sentence.

He'd thought it only a sleeping curse. And no, he had not been the one to put the curse on her but he hadn't stopped it either. He could have done something, even as simple as letting her know what the witches had been planning.

Hook never would have allowed for the witch's plan to some into fruition if he had known the truth. At the time he had thought: what harm could come from sleep? And it would finally give him the chance to dispose of his foe. It sickened him now, deeply, that he had considered Emma just another obstacle. It had sounded simple; with her asleep there wasn't much of anyone who could keep him away from exacting his revenge on the crocodile.

"I'm a bloody fool," Killian whispers aloud, into the virtually quiet room, half expecting Emma to agree with him.

He'd _never_ wanted this. He'd never intended for her to get hurt. The witches had tricked him, _used him_, and he'd gone along with it like an idiot, blind to anything but his hatred for Rumpelstiltskin. How was he to know that here in this world a sleeping curse had much more dire consequences, that if they couldn't find a way to wake her up—

" I'm a fucking bloody fool."

He hadn't even questioned it. He'd betrayed Emma's trust… not that he'd ever truly gotten it, but he had wanted it once hadn't he?—_Didn't he still?_ And that was, for some reason, a blow he had still never quite fully gotten over. When Emma had shackled him up and left him on top of that beanstalk, the betrayal had stung as much as if she had cut off his other hand.

"But you still didn't deserve this," Hooks says, clenching his hand into a fist.

At the time he'd thought that she'd broken his trust and left him to die but she'd made a deal with the giant. He'd been freed and as a consequence he'd even gotten the opportunity to acquire the trinket that'd granted him voyage to Storybrooke in the first place.

Killian tentatively sat on the edge of her bed, turning eyes to the door to make sure they were still alone, before turning them back to look over her, his gaze softening.

Hook knew he'd made his choices and he deserved what he got for them. The fact that his foe was still up and walking around while this strong-willed, brilliant woman he'd betrayed was slowly drifting away, was like a slap in the face.

This is what revenge had gotten him.

He'd done so many horrible things, some that he didn't wish to think about, others that he'd simply forgotten after they were done, and what had it all even meant in the end?

It's been more than 300 years and he _had already_ exacted revenge— he hadn't been lying about Belle being the place that the crocodile kept his heart and Hook had taken that away from him.

But it hadn't been enough.

It hadn't closed the gaping hole in his heart like he'd thought it would.

Hook had needed more… or at least he thought he had.

But now… seeing Emma like this, even if his plans had worked out and he had finally killed Gold—_as Emma always referred to him_—Hook is somehow entirely sure that—_still—_it would not have healed him either, that it would not have undone the damage, and even more so, that it _would not have been worth it_. Nothing so inconsequential could _ever_ be worth Emma's life.

And that thought struck him, hard.

"I apologize," Killian says reaching for her hand, "I should've let it go love. I see that now. I _need_ to let it go."

His vendetta has done nothing but feed him poison.

Hook looks down at their hands, Emma's unresponsive and limp in his grasp, and smoothes a calloused thumb across her skin. It feels clammy and colder than it should be and if he focuses, he swears he can feel the warmth fading by the second.

But still, just seeing them this way, he is reminded of that _one small second_, the one he had since pushed to the back of his mind. It was right before she'd chained him down and left him with the Giant. He had seen it, _felt_ it—_the connection, the spark_—right before the fear had crept into her eyes, when she'd took his hand in hers.

And maybe having her believe in him for just that moment _hadn't_ closed the ragged gaping hole in his chest… but he _had_ forgotten that it was there.

When he'd had Emma and she'd trusted him, for even just the time it took her hand to cross the chasm between them and grasp his, it was the first time in as long as Hook could remember that he had not been in pain.

Hook lets go, placing Emma's hand gently back on the bed, and moves to stand up. He'd done what he came here for, to apologize to her for what he'd done… the first apology that he'd given since before Milah because nothing had really mattered after that.

And he is left feeling empty and lost as he looks down at her, knowing now that he should leave, and not just her side but this town, maybe this realm, there is nothing left for him here. Revenge is a road he has traveled for far too long, longer than many are even meant to live and he needs to let it go. He just wishes that there was some other way for him to have figured it out.

Hook doesn't know what they could have had, maybe nothing… probably something, but it doesn't count for much anymore does it? Killian starts to turn on his heel and leave but something stops him. He glances over his shoulder back at her.

This is goodbye and he_ could_ just say the words and go, be a gentleman about it, but then again he is a bloody pirate and really, if he thinks about it, Emma wouldn't have expected anything less. He almost smirks.

Hook turns back around and gazes at the sleeping Swan girl before him, some part of him knowing that this is not the way that it should have ended.

He gently moves a strand of golden hair off of her cheek and leans in.

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"Goodbye Emma," he whispers softly into her ear, "You really would have made a bloody good pirate love." And then in a slow movement, his nose barely grazing her cheek on the way there, Captain Hook softly presses his lips against Emma Swan's in a kiss.

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The magical backlash is pretty much immediate.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count: **2437

**Author's Note: **I had the urge to continue this & then other people wanted me to continue this and so here we go :). I'm thinking there will be four parts to this fic, possibly five? Let me know what you think! Enjoy.

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**ii.**

_"Wake up, look me in the eyes again."_

- "Bloodstream" Stateless

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As it turns out, true love-or at least the magical representation of it-has a scent.

_—something sweet like vanilla, but as faint as the smell of rain carried on a breeze._

And a taste.

—_one that can't quite be explained, only experienced._

_—savored_.

And a presence.

—_like being wrapped up in a warm blanket late in the dead of winter_.

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In truth, it is all very disorientating and when Emma wakes up shrouded in the haze of magic, she is suddenly made all too aware. Her skin is warmer, there's a gentle ringing in her ears.

Her heartbeat feels different, like the rhythm has changed. It _echoes._

With a gasp, she opens her eyes, and almost just as quickly Emma finds herself falling into the bright blue ones looking back at her. He is only a short breath away, poised above her with a look as open and confused and glazed over as the one surely on her face. Their gazes lock.

She knows these eyes, the brows arched above them, the slightly stubbled chin, the small scar on his cheek and Emma knows that this is Hook-but at the same time, it's as if this is the first she has seen him… or at least that it's the first time she's allowed herself to see him the way she maybe _always_ has.

They are both pindrop silent, overwhelmed, lost, in awe, and then—

"Emma…?" he breathes her name, followed by a sharp puff of breath, almost a laugh, as if he can't believe it. "What just—

She's already shaking her head.

"I don't know." She cocks her head to the side and her brows furrow, "Wait. Hook, did you—

"…Mom?"

And then the moment slips away as Emma blinks and turns from him.

"Henry?"

"Mom!"

Hook rises and looks back just in time to see Emma's son dashing towards her bedside. The boy is beaming, shouting "You're back! You're okay! I knew the curse would be broken!"

And Hook backs up to allow for the Mother and son's reunion and much needed embrace. He doubts the lad has even seen him, he's so focused on his mom as he rightly should be. Emma had been slipping away, Hook had felt that the life was leaving her. Hook remains completely and entirely stunned.

_What the bloody hell had just happened?_

"Yeah kid, I guess I am alright," Emma says, her hands clasped around Henry's face, smiling at him.

"How did you break it?" Henry asks, enthusiasm boiling over, "Mary Margaret and David just told me Neal couldn't do it!"

_Right, _Killian remembers. _The Crocodile's son had said something about failing. Had Rupelstiltskin actually managed to figure something out when they left? That fast?_

But then Mary Margaret and David have stormed into the room too, both with equally astonished looks, and then the happiness and excitement and pure joy of the reunion just gets larger. David does, however, take the time to glare at Hook on the way to Emma's bedside. To which Hook, of course, returns the look with his own smug leer.

As Hook continues to stand there, eyes back on Swan, his confusion about what exactly had just happened lessens in importance, pails in comparison to the feeling of relief that blossoms in his chest.

She's okay.

Whatever it had been—_and there's a second, an inkling, where he thinks that maybe it could have been him, that he'd done it, but how could that make any sense?_ _He doesn't have any magic here—_Emma's okay.

Perhaps she had been fighting just as hard as he'd thought, the strong lass that she was. He doesn't know and Hook honestly doesn't bloody care. The relief he feels just to see her move— _the limp and lifeless hand he had held less than five minutes ago is rustling her son's hair—_is overpowering, like the breath has been knocked out of him, and now his mistake in not choosing the right side quickly enough will not be something he has to carry around with him for the rest of his life, wherever it is he intends to go.

And at this moment, watching her happy with her loved ones, Hook is beyond grateful. He doesn't think he would've been able to live with himself. Forget about carrying the weight of her death on his shoulders, the guilt and remorse would have eaten away at him. He wouldn't have been able to take two steps.

Hook allows himself one small and genuine smile but soon he begins to feel that he is imposing on the tight knit family affair. And even still, Hook can't shake the feeling that this, his last day in Storybrooke—_because he's still leaving. He has to go—_may have just marked a better beginning.

And of course it had been because of Emma Swan.

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"How did this happen?" Snow White asks after so many hugs and so many heartfelt words that she's lost count. There are tears still brimming her eyes. Charming is sitting on the edge of Emma's bed holding her hand and Emma can't place why something about it feels so distinctly familiar and yet somehow off.

"What do you mean?" Emma asks, still looking down at their hands and trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong with it. She is still a little lightheaded.

"We tried true love's kiss. Neal was here with Mr. Gold and I swear he tried four or five times but nothing happened. Gold had to nearly drag him out of the room…" Snow's eyes become downcast at this. She remembers how much Neal had wanted to fix it and a part of Snow knows that he'd been trying to make up for the things he'd done wrong to Emma in the past. But it hadn't worked. She'd actually felt a little sad for him.

"Where is—_are_ Mr. Gold _and_ Neal now?" Emma asks, trying to make her voice not sound so tight, because if Neal had supposedly tried so hard why wasn't he here now? They've talked about it but Emma still doesn't know if she can get passed their past, not really. At least, she hasn't fully made her mind up about it yet.

"They went to try and find another way. We all thought—we thought that you wouldn't wake up. We thought we might lose you," Snow's voice cracks.

No one says anything for a moment. Snow and Charming each having their own thoughts about if that tragedy had befallen them, what they would've done if they lost Emma—their savior—_their daughter._

Emma thinks about what it would have done to Henry.

"Maybe… it just took longer this time," David cuts in, "For the kiss to work, I mean. Maybe a spell becomes more powerful here each time it's used. We're going to have to be more careful. This can't keep happening."

"Yeah… maybe," Emma says, her mind clearing more by the minute. She sits up straighter in bed not convinced that it is something so simple as that at all. "But I think—when I woke up…" she stops, eyes widening. Her gaze flicks from left to right, looking around Charming and Snow, and then the words die in her throat.

She lets go of Charming's hand.

He's not here anymore. He's left. Hook's gone.

And then about a millisecond after that, Emma is yanking the hospital sheets off her body and jumping out of bed.

Because Henry is gone too.

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"Wow you're boat is awesome."

Killian halts his steps and releases an agitated sigh, turning on his heel. There have been far too many unwelcomed guests on his ship in the recent past for any pirate to handle. His ship is still invisible and he hadn't heard anyone following him on his way from the hospital but maybe that had something to do with him being to caught up in his thoughts to pay attention.

Henry trots up to him, continuing to take in everything he can see from his spot on the deck.

"Ship," Killian corrects, and though still a little miffed, he is inwardly approving of the admirative look on the lad's face. At least Emma's son has good taste about his trespassing.

"Huh?" Henry asks.

"She's not a _boat. _She's a _ship_ and it'll do you good to remember it." Killian bends at the waist, looking Henry dead in the eyes, "And now that we've gotten that little tidbit cleared up, what _pray tell_ do you think you're doing on _my_ ship mate?"

"Exploring," Henry says with a shrug, not the least bit wary or intimidated, as if it should be completely obvious that this is what he should be doing at this time of night, coming on to a pirate's ship—_one who's loyalties have been questioned, mind you, and that no one particularly trusts and debatably shouldn't—_on a whim.

Hook blinks twice, quickly in succession.

"Come again?" he questions, deadpan.

"Well since I'm probably going to be on here a lot more from now on, I just figured—

Hook cuts him off, straightening up.

"No," Killian says pointing at him. "There will be none of that. And you should be at the hospital with Emma anyway," Killian stares hard at him, "The last thing I need is for the lot of them to think I've up and kidnapped you. _His highness _is probably already gathering up the bloody calvary. I'll have you know, I am actively trying to be good right now- and _actually_ good, not faking." He grins.

"David'll be fine," Henry says, glancing up at him with speculative eyes, "Kinda like my mom is. She's doing _great _actually. No curse or anything. _Weird_ _huh_?"

Now Hook is good at reading people—it's a given since it's one of the things he's perfected during his long life _including_ the time he'd spent in Neverland—but he wouldn't have to be to know that something was amiss. Clearly, the boy is up to something.

"I was there," Hook replies, slow and suspicious, "I saw."

"I know," Henry answers, giving him a strange smile and a meaningful look. He is rocking—in a terribly preccocious way—back and forth on his heels that has Hook lifting one confused and slightly agitated brow.

"It was you wasn't it? With my mom, I mean. It didn't work for _Neal._"

"What?" Hook asks, nowhere close to following. And what was it with the Crocodile's son coming up so much today?

"This is so cool. I can't believe I missed it! I should have known when you chose our side in the end. Why else would Captain Hook fight with the good guys?! And then when-"

"Hold your britches mate," Hook interrupts, with a gesture of raised hands—_well hand and hook_, "Now what the bloody hell are you going on about?"

"You kissed my mom."

There is a pause but then Hook can't stop the smirk from spreading on his face.

"Yeah, well.. don't tell your grandfather," he whispers, conspiratorially.

Henry beams and whispers mostly to himself. "I knew it."

Killian can't help but laugh. It's not exactly the response he'd been expecting. Had this been what all this sneaking on his ship had been about? At least someone here besides the lovely Emma seems to like him.

"Hold on lad, it was just a goodbye," he assures, knowing that it had started out that way but also knowing that it had became something entirely different. He can't even begin to comprehend what had happened, what that feeling had been after he'd kissed Emma, when she'd opened her eyes. Emma probably would have been able to call him out on the blatant lie, "And speaking of goodbyes," he hastily continued, "You need to get going so I can start getting my things together to do the same."

"Wait, what?" Henry asks, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm clearing out of Storybrooke," Hook replies, almost dismissively. "Less I get sucked back into my favorite game of skin the Crocodile." He gestures towards his hook.

Henry stills.

"But you _can't _leave now! What about Emma?"

Hook gives him an appraising look for the sharp alarm written on his face.

"I'm not leaving _now. _I'm leaving in the _morning_," he repeats, as if it changes much of anything,"And I'm sure we're both well aware that Emma can take care of herself. In fact, she might be glad to finally be rid of me." Hook, despite his natural proclivity towards them, has to force a grin.

Because Hook remembers sitting at Emma's bedside, watching her still and pale and unresponsive, thinking of maybes—_a spark—_the thing that's been going on between them, and he doesn't even believe himself.

Emma might pretend—_and fool many a people, though she could never fool him—_but she wouldn't be glad he was gone at all.

And hadn't that been the point? They circled each other constantly. Wasn't the fact that he could tell she as much enjoyed their run-ins, their venomless spats, as he did, part of the fun? Wasn't he less than an hour ago contemplating what they could have been when he'd thought there was no longer a possibility for it? And now, wasn't that possibility back?

But Hook's leaving… because of Rumpelstiltskin. He'd already made up his mind. He's avoiding getting tempted back into the hellish pit he'd finally found a way to crawl out of—

—Right?

He's not running away from_ anything_—_from her_—_from—_

He's not being a coward—_he isn't._

"…so tomorrow?" Henry asks, making sure of the amount of time he has to fix all of this.

"At first light," Hook answers dazedly, still lost in his thoughts, before he takes in the contemplative look on Henry's face. His eyes narrow. "Why?"

"No reason." Henry answers, abruptly turning around and quickly making his way towards the steps to depart the Jolly Roger. He is off before Hook even has the chance to blink.

"And don't worry," Henry shouts up at him, "I won't let them know I was here! And your ship really is great!" he adds, without even turning around.

Hook watches the boy bound down the dock back towards the town, fast as if on a mission, and keeps an eye on him until eventually Henry vanishes out of sight.

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_Well, he's odd_, Hook thinks.

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It isn't until later, after Hook has had the last of the bit of rum still on his ship—_much to his displeasure—_and mumbled about how "Bloody right his ship is a hell of a ship," that Hook decides that odd though the lad is, he likes him.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count: **1183

**Author's Note: **Suddenly this will be more than 5 pieces now. But it's because, like this one, the chapters will be shorter. It's either that or I'll never get them out, probably get distracted and then this will never get finished lol. So short it is. This one is Hook centric. (I'm ashamed b/c I hardly edited it. Hope there's no blatant mistakes! The next chap. is like... two-thirds done. I just need to find time to finish it) Let me know what you think :)

_eta: I just had to go through and fix italics and dashes and UGH. i think i got them all. FF why are you messing with me today?_

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**iii.**

_"Someday I'll wake you._

_Sometimes I'll wait for myself._

_Someday I'll hold you through._

_Tonight I'm alone."_

-"Mend"- Elsiane

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_The thing about moving past what's kept you going for so long, is that giving it up—sitting still, dealing with all you've pushed down and pent up—does not feel like looking ahead... but instead like going backwards._

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Hook is up doing nothing. The time it had taken him to get his things together was embarrassingly short especially for a pirate. Until now, he'd never noticed how little he'd cared over the years, how few possessions—keepsakes—he'd actually deemed important enough to keep. Besides recently—a giant's bean which had already been made useful—it'd been many years since he'd taken anything.

Hook had been so many places in his quest for vengeance, seen so many astonishing things… and yet he hadn't really seen anything at all had he? He'd hardly paid them any mind. And now Gold isn't even gold to him anymore.

It's ironic, his foe's—_ex foe's?—_new name.

But that is not the worse thing that Hook is finally noticing.

The thing worse than missing out on his own life can be heard in the dismal quiet of his ship. His vessel is just about the only thing that is still around from _then_, that still matters something to him.

But the silence is stifling.

It's crewlessness is not right.

He is not fond of the unnatural quiet.

_Where have they all gone? When had they decided that his quest was no longer worth it no matter how long they lived? Had he even noticed as one by one, each one of his men had—?_

Every so often, sitting in his room, the floorboards creak like heavy footsteps sounding from the deck above—_and how had he not heard this a week ago, a year ago, a decade, a_—and it's almost like back then, like times so long ago that they might as well have never existed.

Hook should feel better now. He should feel unburdened moving past the negativity of his past, his vengeance, the vice that'd been keeping him stagnant… but he's moving past the good from back then too isn't he? What is he now without that?

And there's this itching question at the back of his mind that wont go away.

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_What was the point of living so long if it hadn't been to kill Rumpelstiltskin?_

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But these thoughts will get him no where.

And Hook knows exactly what a night like this calls for.

What he needs to clear his head—

_and anyway, he's leaving tomorrow and what kind of bloody pirate—and he still is one, was one, isn't he?—would he be if he didn't give himself a proper send off?_

—There's just one tiny little problem with his plan.

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_No Bloody Rum_

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Ruby approaches slowly, glass in hand. It's late, too late, and she's been on her feet for hours but that's not going to keep her from getting her point across. When he reaches for the glass, she pulls it just out of reach, watching as his eyes snap up to land on her face.

"You know," she says bluntly, "if Granny or anyone else who knew who you were was here, I wouldn't be serving you."

Hook blinks, staring at her. What he'd like to say is that this wouldn't list among the top of his most favored places to partake anyway, that a cheesy little diner in a fake little town was a last resort in his brilliant going away plans, that he could care less about everyone's—_save one golden-haired lass_'—opinion of him here, but no where else is open and the ghost footprints and the unanswerable questions are still like wisps of smoke in his mind and that glass, sitting so neatly and tight in her hand, is going to drown them out.

Hook licks his lips, and with a grin from the side of his mouth, leans back in his seat.

"And that begs the question, why are you darling?" he asks, silky and smooth, dragging his eyes from her gaze purposefully slow, down and back up again.

Ruby tilts her head to the side, cocking her hip and giving him a devious smile, "Well you aren't too hard on the eyes," she says, pointed and truthful, and because well… Ruby can't help herself sometimes.

And Hook, grinning a little wider now because that was easy enough, reaches for the glass again only to grasp air.

"But that's not why pirate," Ruby says suddenly a lot more serious, "You royally fucked up in the whole Cora vs. Us, Us vs. Cora situation, but I think it meant something to you," she leans forward a bit now, "I think what happened to Emma _means_ something to you."

Ruby pauses and Hook smirks at her as if unaffected, even if only to cover up the slight widening of his eyes that he wasn't quite able to stop. Ruby smiles back, looking a little more smug and continues,"And I know she'll be all right. She'll wake up. _She's Emma. _But that's not why either. The only reason I'm okay with you being here, is because I don't believe you were _ever _as bad as you put on."

And maybe it's a little harder to turn a new leaf than Hook thought. The first good thing to do would be to tell her that Emma is fine, that's she's right, Emma did wake up. And the second would probably be to let her know she'll not regret letting him in the diner tonight. He no longer has a reason to harm anyone, directly or as a consequence of his actions.

But old habits die hard and maybe, just maybe, Hook doesn't take kindly to people trying to get under his skin… well, unless their last name is Swan, and she's the only one he'd ever let slip exactly what his qualms with Gold really were.

The tattoo on his wrist itches, suddenly feels tight, pulling at the skin.

"Sure you're not seeing what you wish to see love? " he says, act falling to the wayside, voice dark. He leisurely moves his other arm, the one with an end sharpened to a menacing point, and lays it across the top of the table.

Ruby falters for a moment—_and fuck, perhaps he shouldn't have done that. She is still the one holding his rum. How had he forgotten?—_but then there is a scoff combined with a roll of eyes.

His drink clinks as it hits the table.

"I'm not _seeing_ anything pirate. I'm _sensing_ it," she informs him, turning on her heel. Ruby makes it about three steps before she halfway turns around—_he has already taken a large swig of rum by then—_ "And besides, if you ever screw us over again, I could always just eat you."

And then her red pumps are tapping their way back behind the bar.

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He is just thinking that he won't be around much longer for her to try, when the bell on the diner door chimes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count: **3331

**Author's Note: **3/3/13. I'm a day later than I wanted to be in updating but it's really ffnets fault for being dumb. Also, this chapter decided to be long and I don't even know what this story is doing anymore lol. Feedback would be appreciated loves, so let me know what you think ;).

(_Oh and enjoy paleyfest and the new episode tonight! I surely will_.)

* * *

**iv.**

_"When she was a girl,_

_she expected the world._

_But it flew away from her reach._

_So she ran away in her sleep_

_And dreamed of paradise."_

-"Paradise"- Coldplay

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_Just because you're from a fairy-tale, doesn't mean that life is one. And no one believes this more than Emma Swan._

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And Emma knows exactly what a night like this calls for, she decides treading the misleadingly quaint streets of Storybrooke after dark. Granted, if one really wanted to nitpick, Emma hasn't even been up for most of the night to complain and technically, nothing horrible—_by Storybrooke standards anyway—_has happened at all but honestly, she's still pretty sure she deserves a drink.

Emma raises her head and stares at the building before her, trying to make up her mind.

She hadn't really meant to find her way to the diner, she was more or less walking aimlessly, but now that she has come upon it, Emma can't think of a better place to be, or something better that she should be doing.

_Except that that is not exactly true-no where close to it actually—but if she were going to take that into consideration then she wouldn't have been out here at all now would she?_

Because_ that_… is the last thing that's supposed to be on Emma's mind.

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Emma takes a deep breath, knowing that spending her time here instead of—_somewhere else—_will ultimately be a decision.

She's not doing it.

She doesn't believe in it and even if she did, she doesn't _want_ it.

_—And she's almost entirely sure of that.—_

Accepting of her choice; the one that ends with her waking up in the morning, likely hungover, and more than likely having to answer to her eleven year old son, she makes her way inside.

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When the bell chimes, Hook's eyes are drawn to the door more out of habit than out of necessity. In his experience, being a pirate in a bar can turn very interesting—and particularly messy—when the wrong person makes an appearance at the threshold. The key had always been staying alert and aware but he is surprised to see that it is Emma who walks inside, running a hand through her wind disheveled tresses.

"I think it's going to storm," she says absently to no one in particular, but at the sound, Ruby-_-who still hasn't decided to bring him a second drink though she's obviously noticed that the first is getting rather low, much too low for his tastes—_is turning on her heel in surprise.

"Emma," Ruby calls out, eyes wide, " When did you wake up? I swear no one ever tells me anything," she says with a pout, which makes Emma smile just a bit.

Emma steps out of the doorway, approaching the bar in the center of the room, and Hook looks her over. She can't see him from where he is, not that she seems to be looking, and he uses this to his advantage taking her in.

She is a far cry from the frail figure who'd been laying in that hospital bed earlier in the day. He'd already known that she was fine, seen it with his own eyes, but there's a constricting feeling in his chest anyway. It is almost as if he'd thought he'd imagined her recovery, like he's seeing it all over again—_except that this time she not inches away, staring back at him, looking open and vulnerable and amazed, and they're not alone, he's not forgotten how to breathe, and really it's nothing like that moment they'd had now that he thinks of it— _But he's still just as relieved that she's okay.

"Not many people know yet. Just Snow and David and Henry."

_And there's certainly someone missing from that list of yours darling isn't there? Hook thinks._

"What, Neal just break the curse or something?" Ruby asks, running a towel over the bar counter—and though Ruby seems to have missed it, Hook definitely catches Emma's wince. He cocks a brow, even more interested now—"And what're you doing here so late anyway?" Ruby continues.

"Uh… the curse was broken earlier but I just got home a little while ago," Emma answers, slowly. "And then after I got up, Henry decided he'd go exploring around town alone. So I had to send David and Mary Margaret home just in case he showed up there before I went out searching."

Emma shakes her head.

"He can be a handful huh?" Ruby asks, smirking.

Emma sighs, "Henry's a special kid and I love him more than anything… but you have _no idea_."

Ruby laughs."Well, you can't blame him for getting back to his adventures. The whole time you were…out of commission so to speak, he was really worried. We all were. How are you feeling by the way?"

"Great," Emma replies before looking down at herself, clenching and unclenching her fists. She hadn't even taken the time to really worry about herself since she'd woken up. There has been far too many things on her mind. "At least… everything seems great, I think. I was a little lightheaded at first and I'm not particularly looking forward to having any dreams in burning rooms…"

At Ruby's confused look, Emma just shrugs and shakes her head in a_ it's-a-very-long-story_ kind of a way and since Ruby, having lot's of experience with long and complicated stories, knows the feeling, she doesn't pursue it.

"Honestly though Ruby, I could really just go for a drink." Emma says, finally getting to the point.

"Sure thing. You want the regular hot chocolate with cinnamon right?" Ruby asks, and Emma's hand reaches up to rub at the back of her neck.

"Uh, actually—

A slow grin spreads on Ruby's lips, "I'm _kidding_ Sheriff," she says with a lighthearted roll of her eyes."You look like you could go for something strong," She leans closer, propping an elbow on the counter. "Granny hides all the good stuff in the back you know?" she mock whispers, "Don't tell her I told you."

Emma gives her a broad smile.

"Well in that case, can you just get me the strongest thing you've got?" And after a wink but before Ruby can disappear Emma adds, "And you should probably keep them coming!"

By the end of their conversation, Hook has already filed loads of information away.

Emma had completely sidestepped the question concerning Rumplestiltskin's son and his involvement in breaking the curse— _something Hook still hasn't gotten a clear answer for_—and even more suspicious than that, considering that her boy had been _with him_ and not in fact exploring the town as she'd said—_and also because Hook is not dense enough to believe that though the lad may not have told his and her highness where he'd been like he'd said he wouldn't, he'd more than likely immediately spilled all that information to Emma_— Hook knows that Swan could _not_ have just gotten him home.

It would seem that the lovely Emma Swan was holding something back, and that had set their game up perfectly for him.

_Just what was she hiding? Why was she here—and apparently for the same reasons as himself—?_

And if he was going to be gone in the morning, couldn't he at least spend part of tonight enjoying himself and their "friendly" banter? Figuring her out? At least, for a little while?

_—and Hook doesn't even realize that it isn't until now, not after the burn of rum sliding down his throat but after seeing Emma, that the guilt about his forgotten crew and the haunting questions of wasted time and wasted life that have been bothering him all night have lessened until they have become virtually unnoticeable—_

As soon as Ruby is out of sight, Emma starts working on undoing the buttons of her coat. She figures she might as well make herself comfortable. The way it looks—_and with the way she feels: confused, wary, like she's doing something wrong_—she's probably going to be here for a while. It is when she is shrugging off her jacket that she hears the distinctive clearing of a throat behind her.

Emma glances over her shoulder—_not liking that who ever it is has managed to sneak up on her_— and feels her breath hitch, her heartbeat pick up as soon as her eyes land on him.

"Oh, don't mind me," Hook teases, leaning against the booth behind her, arms crossed—_and where the hell did he come from_?—"I'm just enjoying the show love," he grins at her with a wink.

And of course he's here, Emma thinks. Of course Hook is at the diner—_seriously? has he ever, literally ever, been at the diner?—_at this time of night, when she'd specifically entered to avoid him.

Henry would have gotten a kick out of this, called it fate or something else just as equally well-intentioned—_but to her, damning_—especially considering the little talk they'd had—_that she's been trying to forget—_ after she'd found Henry earlier near the docks, exactly where she'd known he'd be.

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_"But he kissed you and broke the curse. Hook's your true love," Henry had urged, throwing up his hands in exasperation."You have to go and stop him from leaving. You're probably the only one who can."_

_If Emma could scoff without potentially hurting Henry's feelings, she would have. Because Henry had no idea just how wrong he was._

_"No kid, I really don't," she' answered back after having listened to everything Henry had to say. Emma may have possessed her own suspicions when she'd been talking to Mary Margaret and David at the hospital—when she'd kept replaying herself waking up with Hook poised above her, the look on his face, the moment between them, clear and staggering like the first light of morning, like day overcoming night—but she hadn't really considered those suspicions and definitely hadn't been anywhere near ready to examine what they'd meant._

_…So now that she'd been told that Hook had been the one to wake her, had been the catalyst to breaking the curse—at least as far as she could tell at this point, considering that he had told Henry, her son of all people, that he'd kissed her and she'd been told earlier on that the whole Neal thing hadn't exactly panned out—and that meant, according to her son and what he called "fairytale rules", that Hook was—supposedly—her true love._

_And that was laughable wasn't it? It was a ridiculous notion that her soulmate could really be Captain Hook._

_—But then again, fairy-tales were real (she sometimes had to remind herself of this fact) And hadn't she once loved Rumplestiltskin's son? Wanted to run away with him? …And been left by him. Couldn't forget that part… ever—_

_And truthfully, all this fairy-tale stuff was no where near as sweet as 'Once upon a time' or 'they lived happily ever after' and there's a small part of knowing that which make Emma's heart ache. She couldn't even count on fairy-tales to end up right when the stories were always still being played out around her._

_And yet, this wasn't Fairy-tale land anyway and though Emma may have come from there, she didn't grow up there and she certainly didn't consider herself a fairy-tale character in any sense of the word._

_There weren't happy endings here. Wasn't that Regina's point? (and Emma has caught herself a bit off kilter when she's begun using Regina to back up her mental arguments but still.)_

_Emma lived in the real world, where things went wrong, and love and life and fate weren't so cut and dry. Hadn't she found that out once before? Sitting in a jail cell kinda takes the magic out of things. And she'd abided by her own rules since then and if she wasn't willing to just accept what supposedly was, then she didn't have to._

_And that was just the way that it was._

_"If Hook feels like he needs to leave Storybrooke then I think it's a good idea," she'd said, "He was right Henry. He and Gold do need to stay away from each other or none of us will ever be safe with their feud going on."_

_"Yeah… I thought that was a pretty good reason too but that's not why he's leaving and it's not why you want him gone either," Henry had answered, in the quick-witted way he always did, so entirely sure of something that Emma had known at once that nothing would be able to shake his faith._

_"You're just scared and I think maybe he is too but you don't have to be. Didn't the stories teach you anything? There's always stuff to overcome but in the end it's true love!"_

_"Look, Henry…" she'd tried to cut in because there were those words again: true love. And every time he said them she could feel her spine stiffen and stomach tie up in knots but Henry continued._

_"It's fate Emma. You've seen it! Remember when you woke me?"_

_Emma smiled, small and faint, "Yeah, I remember" she'd said, and she did. It was one of the happiest moments of her life,"But that was different."_

_Because it had to be, didn't it?_

_"No. That was real. And this is too. You've both just got to take the chance."_

_Emma had sighed, shaking her head to herself for the umpteenth time on their drive home. They had nearly reached the apartment by then._

_"I'll never understand how everything is just so simple with you kid," she'd admitted, throwing the car in park and removing her key from the ignition._

_Henry grabbed her hand, smiling up at her across the space between them, unshakable belief against learned dismissal, and she'd tightened her hold around his—and Emma swears that she will never get used to it, being with Henry, loving him so much it hurts— It was strange how a lot of the time she felt like he was the one reassuring her, and not the other way around._

_"Actually, I'm pretty sure you just make things difficult. You can be really stubborn when you want to be Emma," he'd grinned._

_"Really funny," she'd said, nudging him in the shoulder, "Let's go inside kid."_

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And about two hours after that, severely late in the night at this point, Emma having been up just _thinking_, she'd decided that she needed to take a walk, clear her head, organize her thoughts.

_—Because she couldn't stop thinking about him or about how once she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Neal. Or about all the things she keeps balled up inside, hoping that one day it'd all just disappear—_

David and Snow were at the apartment to look after Henry-_-who was supposed to be sleep but apparently wasn't because she'd seen the curtains move when she turned to stare back up at the building on her way out-_- she just needed some time to figure things out, or more precisely to forget some things entirely.

She was pretty sure that Henry had thought she'd left to go and talk Hook out of leaving, and if that was the case Henry was going to be severely disappointed in the morning because Emma was definitely not planning on doing something so absurd, so pointless—_so risky—_as that at all. In fact, she was more or less taking the walk to remind herself of all the reasons why she _shouldn't—_but would you look at that, nothing was ever going to go her way was it?

Preordain her to be a savior, throw her in a curse, and she still couldn't catch a break?

"What're you doing here?" are the first words out of Emma's mouth, they taste dry and unsure on her lips, nothing like the assured tone she typically uses and maybe that's because she isn't feeling quite so sure of anything at the moment.

Hook replies with a shake of the glass that Emma just now notices is wrapped in his fingers.

"Ran out of rum, love. What about you?" he says, pushing himself forward from his leaning position, closing in on her_—Emma contemplates taking a step back but ultimately doesn't-_-,"Don't tell me that you couldn't sleep," and his voice drops, suggestive and smooth, as naturally as his eyes glaze over and gleam with mischief "You know, if you want, I've got quite the remedy for that." He's smirking again.

Emma gives him a blank look, at the same time that she can feel the tightness in her stomach lessen because this is the same old Hook and she can handle him, handle _this._ At first she hadn't known what she should be expecting but apparently, he'd decided nothing about their dynamic should change either.

That made things so much easier.

—And yet Emma tries to brush off the dull pain of disappointment flaring in her chest because _nothing_ has changed and he_ really_ might be leaving in the morning and because one of the things she'd thought about on her aimless walk—_which she'd fervently tried not to but couldn't help herself—_was that Hook had kissed her, woken her up, found out that he was her one true love, and _still_ he wanted to leave Storybrooke? _How fucked up was that?_

…Not that it mattered.

Because that was _exactly_ what she wanted...

_—wasn't it?_

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"Thanks, but no thanks," Emma blankly answers back, removing her jacket and sidestepping him to approach the booth he'd just been perched against. Hook watches her every move as she lays the jacket down, utterly drawn in for no particular reason at all except that she's her—_and it's been this way since the very beginnin_g—"I think I've slept far more than enough today," she adds.

"Ah, but if you hadn't?" he asks, eyes still gleaming, lips slightly turned up at the corners.

"I still wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

And Hook laughs, completely amused because she's brushed him off—_as always-_-and is beautiful and antagonizing and challenging—_as always to_o—and he loves every bloody minute of it.

"Well just in case you change your mind love, I think I'll stick around."

And somehow it comes off as more of a question than a statement, like he's waiting for an invitation to do just that, for her to ask him to stick around—_which he is—_ like he'd actually go away if she didn't extend one, and Emma stares hard at him.

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_Because how fucked up is this too?_

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Ruby approaches with the first of Emma's drinks and an accessing look for the two people that are barely paying her any mind._  
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_—and the pointed glare that she shoots Hook before she leaves them both to whatever it is that is going on, does not go unnoticed because Hook is even more amused that he has in fact managed to stick around long enough for Ruby to have the chance to live up to her threat after all—_

But Hook won't be screwing anyone over this time.

That is… unless he finds himself somehow extremely lucky tonight.

"Well?" he grins.

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And Emma really shouldn't, knows it's more than likely a horrible idea. She should tell him to go but there's this other part of her that wants to _know…_

and_ to hell with it—_

_It's not like she can't take care of herself. _

_It's not like she hasn't mastered the art of keeping people at a distance, like he could change anything about that in one night. _

_And it would be only one night since he'll be leaving._

_Since he'll be gone._

—What could it hurt, just to sit and talk with Hook?

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"However you choose to waste your time, is fine by me," Emma replies, in the most roundabout invitation that she can think of.

When Emma sits down in her seat, Hook smoothly slides in to the one across from her.

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_And maybe he is a little lucky._

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_._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count: **3064

**Author's Note: **3/17/13. Finished this yesterday but ended up going out and then stayed out even longer to celebrate St. Patty's day. (hangover was not needed this morning). So I just got around to editing and posting today.

(_Enjoy the new epi. tonight_. _I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Hook will make his reappearance :D _)

* * *

**v.**

_"I've got nothing left to prove_

_Cause I've got nothing left to lose_

_See me there waiting for you_

_Who, who are you?"_

- "Who are you?" -Mikky Ekko

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_And sometimes, Hooks knows all too well, you've got to give a little to get what you want._

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"I don't get it," Emma says, bringing her glass to her lips and tipping her head back. The last of Ruby's mixture splashes down her throat and is swallowed as quickly as it makes contact. The auburn liquid burns on the way down, smells and tastes potent like rubbing alcohol, but hey, Ruby had obviously lived up to her part of the bargain.

The drink is perfect for what Emma needs from it. Her mind is already growing foggy.

Hook continues to watch her all the while, a small (and suspicious if one asked Emma) smile on his face.

"Oh, are you talking to me love?" he asks, his unfaltering stare unbroken.

Emma sits her empty glass down— none-too-gently— raising an agitated brow at him. He knows what she's talking about.

Except for one large grin and a look bright with mirth— _a look that had been met with a scowl because it'd been annoyingly given after Emma's reaction to her first sip of Ruby's drink: a ragged cough and near gag that made her eyes water_— Hook has been deceptively still from the moment they'd sat down. He hasn't said a word.

It'd been making Emma edgy, his sharp eyes observing her for so long, silently and accessing. She'd recently started taking to wondering what he was thinking— what's so interesting— _what he sees when he looks at her_— until she'd reminded herself that she shouldn't care. But still, him just… watching, has been giving her an strange and uneasy feeling, a rush she can't shake off, like she's some young insecure little girl.

It's aggravating.

But even worse than that it's also probably intentional.

"Yes I'm talking to you,"she says slowly, getting more frustrated by the moment, "Is there someone else here?"

And he inches forward—_ to which Emma thanks the stars that there's a table between them because he seems so much closer than he already is and the heat in her chest (from drinking, of course) seems to double_— "Would you rather there be?"

A pause— because she is barely able to choke back her almost unfiltered answer of _'no'._

Thankfully for her— _and maybe for them both_— he misinterprets her inability to inarticulate as quiet annoyance rather than the confused silence at her own thoughts that it actually is.

"All right lass," he declares, "I'll bite. What is it exactly that you don't you get?"

Emma decides to forget whatever lapse in judgement she'd almost had.

"I don't get you bothering me into letting you sit here just to stare," she proclaims before scowling, "Do you know how hard it is to drink in peace with you… bemusedly observing or whatever-the-hell-it-is-you're-doing the whole time?"

His eyes are laughing again when he looks away—_ the first time they haven't been on her in many minutes—Emma can finally breathe_— and he gazes down into his rum.

What's funny to Hook is that despite what Emma thinks, which seems to be that he's been doing this just to ignore her, in truth Hook just hasn't figured out how to approach her yet. And that is the most humorous thing of all because when—_ and how long has it been really? a century ago? longer? never?_—has he ever _not_ known how to approach a woman?

He's been genuine with her before—_ something that had been more of a shock to himself than her because it had not been planned in the least_— and that had gotten him no where. He's been his usually _charming_self with her too and that had gotten him even less except for maybe invited to her table and he hadn't actually expected that much.

—And why had she anyway, let him stay with her, when for all intensive purposes she seemed to have a knack for keeping him away, keeping many people away (that had been clear as day in her eyes the very first time he'd looked into them)? _What. was. so. different. now?_ What had _changed_ recently enough for her to do it, give him an opening? And how was he not supposed to_ fuck this up?_—- _why did he care so much_— He knew he was missing something and he was going to find out. He still hasn't forgotten about how off she'd been acting when talking to Ruby either. But how to get a woman as headstrong as her and as good at keeping herself hidden (as good as he is, he'd even admit) to tell him?—

Emma watches the motion as Hook absentmindedly— _a habit perhaps?_— twirls his glass in his hand as he's thinking— _and it really wasn't that hard a question for him to be taking so long was it?_

Her focus is lagging, the edges of her vision have grown blurry and she sees the glass spinning on the oak counter table, hears the sound of the glass and his rings clinking when they meet echoing in her ears.

And suddenly Emma remembers what it feels like: the roughness of the hand holding that glass. It was the feel of hard labor, of the toil of _nameless_ years, maybe the feel of time spent gripping the wooden splittering steer of a ship…. and yet there was _always_ a gentleness that he'd held her with. It had fascinated her then. Her maybe-enemy—_ one could never be sure with him_— this villain from a storybook reaching out to her, or folding her up in his arms as he had— _that one time, that one misunderstanding. Why is she thinking of it again?_

It had made her pause, realizing that though she knew who he was, that she'd heard of him as he'd said:_Captain Hook, a fictional character in a fictional tale that was once one of her favorites,_ she really hadn't known who he was at all: _the real man._ The one with a woman's named tattooed on his wrist.

And she'd wanted to know _so badly_, so much that she'd spilled one of her secrets first.

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_"Maybe I have been in love… once"_

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Emma hasn't been this close to him for this amount of time since they were on that beanstalk… well as far as she knows. How long had he been in that hospital room with her anyway—_and she literally should have no idea what he'd actually been doing while in there with her but her brain fills in the blank without hesitance_— just how long had he been sitting at her side?

And_ why_ did he kissed her?—On a whim?- as a game?- _because maybe he had some inkling that he might be the one to wake her up?_— she doesn't know. And sure, Emma can breathe now with his eyes not on her but at least one part of her— _some part buried way down deep_—is beginning to miss the heat his stare causes to bubble up and simmer just beneath her skin.

Emma shuts her eyes, releases a shallow breath, a little bit dizzy, before opening and raising her gaze back to his face. The tingle in her spine is left to be blamed on her apparent inebriation. Because that _has to be_ what's causing it.

His voice almost makes her jump.

"Sorry love," he says, gazing at her again— _and he sounds distant and muffled in her ears_— "I thought I was wasting my time. That is how you put it isn't it?"

She blinks. She'd forgotten she'd asked him anything and she takes a moment to let the words sink in until she can finally make some sense of them.

"That doesn't mean that you can waste mine," she answers, not thinking. Because wait— that could be taken in the _wrong_ way, like she _wants_ to talk to him, _wants_ to spend time with him and that's not true…_not really_… except she had invited him to stay and how exactly was she supposed to explain that away again?

Because it didn't matter?

…or because it…?

_…because…?_

Before Hook can call her out on it, and she knows that he is capable of just that, Emma is turning her attention away, hopefully looking as if she's checking the status of her impending second drink.

The whole time she can feel his eyes on her, hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

It takes a moment or two— _gives her the time to regain her composure_— but eventually she catches Ruby's gaze behind the bar and the message is sent.

When Emma turns back to the table, expecting a smug look or something else to show that he'd caught her slip of the tongue, completely ready for it, his clear eyes catch her off guard.

The corners of Hook's lips turn up in something that is not a grin or smirk, but an actual smile. He's figured it out, he thinks. He knows how to get to her. The answer was staring him right in the face— _too easy, too simple_— they are _too much alike_ but there is a catch. It would also mean that he'd be leaving himself out to dry as well. And that's a risk.

_But if she will… then-_-

"Let's play a game."

Emma starts, "What?"

"Play a game with me Emma."

And he says it as if it's nothing, as if the way the words have rolled off his lips is nothing, but the genuineness of his tone—_missing the arrogance, the seduction, the everything else he typically masks his voice in_— like that time before:_ 'what are you doing? Emma have I told you a lie?'_ and it all makes Emma's head spin. He shouldn't be talking to her like that, shouldn't have been back then and shouldn't be now.

Her instincts flare and her walls go up immediately.

She scoffs.

"Right," she answers sarcastically, "And just how much did you have to drink before I got here? I'm not playing anything with you Hook."

He grins now, falling back into his seat, simultaneously falling back into line with the Hook that Emma is okay with, the one she can deal with as if he had been able to sense how quickly she'd shut herself off—_because he had._

_He'd seen her do it before._

"Come now love, don't make me beg…" he drawls, looking at her with dangerous eyes,"…though considering you're liking of tying me up, maybe you'd prefer that." He smirks, insinuation clear. He bites his lip ever so slightly, "Perhaps I'd prefer—

"You know what," Emma interrupts before he can finish whatever it is he's about to say. She doesn't think she can appropriately react to it right now. Not with her brain all hazy, or her chest so tight,_ or the temperature rising the way it is._ "Sure, I'll play but only if it'll stop you from doing that _and_ stop you from staring at me."

There's a beat, a pause, a sharp look that crosses his face before he says it.

"It's a deal," he nearly grinds out.

And they both catch how ironic it sounds coming from him.

There's another pause, a tense one.

"What kind of game is it?" Emma asks, mostly to cut through the suddenly stifling atmosphere, because he had clenched his jaw and was starting to look as if he'd been getting caught up in something else,_something dark_, his demeanor changing— _and because even though sober he might have thought it a good idea to give up his revenge, alcohol has a way of bringing out the worst sides of people_— but at the same time Emma realizes it's a damn good question and that strangely she had committed to playing before knowing what she was getting herself into.

The distant look in his eyes begins to fade away like he's seeing her again.

"The drinking kind," he says, shaking it off, managing a smirk, "Is there anything else?"

And to Emma, this is beginning to sound like a very very _bad_, very very _good_ idea— she _was_ planning on getting to that point, getting far gone enough that she couldn't be bothered with thinking anymore but she honestly hadn't planned on still being in _his_ company when that happened. However something else catches her attention and she can't help but to tilt her head at him, grinning faintly.

"A pirate wanting to play a drinking game… _really?_" Emma dryly jokes, "Way to be original."

Hook laughs and the sound nearly makes her shudder— _she is losing it. _"What can I say, pirates _invented_drinking games love," he replies with a wink, "But more importantly, pirate _captains **win**_ them," he provokes.

And she's not sure if he knows this but Emma has always had a dangerously competitive streak.

"I think you're underestimating me Hook," she answers seriously because despite her competitiveness, and despite that he's a pirate who typically carries rum like a runner carries water, putting away liquor was once a bit of a pastime for her too.

—Of course that had been mostly during that inbetween stage… after jail but before she'd garnered a seemingly small bit of purpose when she'd become a bails bondsman. Because as it turns out, being angry and sad and alone leaves little room for other activities and Emma had been all of those things for a much longer time than most… maybe sometimes still is in some ways— _like when she sees Snow and Charming together or even Gold and Belle._ She has a lot more now: a family, their love, a community that's she starting to feel more and more a part of every day. She's the product of true love _but she still doesn't have—_

"I've _never_ underestimated you," Hook replies just as seriously, looking her dead in the eyes, no smirk in sight, and Emma's heart skips a beat— partially because of the words but mostly because she knows that they're true. "And you should know by now that I wouldn't ask if I thought there wasn't a chance I'd lose darling," he pauses, seeming to hesitate before bringing it up "…I love a challenge remember?"

And she's back to thinking about the beanstalk again, only this time there's something in his eyes telling her he is too— _and she has a lightening bolt thought, suddenly wonders what would happen if she told him she regrets leaving him up there, suddenly realizes that she does_— "I do," she says, her voice missing the nonchalance she'd been aiming for.

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"So what are the rules?" Emma asks. It had been silent for a moment too long. She shifts in her seat, feeling a little off, watching his lips for his answer.

Hook takes a moment and eyes her carefully.

"You have to play fairly love," he narrows his gaze, "_That means no lying._"

And Emma straightens up, slightly insulted.

"I said I would play didn't I?" Emma answers, voice a little harder because who does he think he is? She's the human lie detector… or at least she was. Things haven't been so clear in a while.

He looks far too satisfied for it not to mean something.

"Then the rules are simple," and he smirks, "If I guess something right about you, you have to drink," and he leans back in his seat, playing the rest off, saying it flippantly with a dismissing wave of his hand— _but this is the risk of his plan_—, "And if you can guess something right about me, I suppose I will."

She hesitates like Hook knew she would. Because _he_ would. But also like him her slip of the tongue earlier on had told him something: she's just as curious about him as he is her.

_Now it's just a matter of who can figure out what they need to figure out first._

And Emma knows he's made this up on the spot and that there is a motive behind it—_because there always is with Hook_— that the fact is that she should be entirely wary of this whole situation.

But then again… Emma also knows that there are so many things about him—_ the real man, his past, what had happened in that hospital room, what he thinks about it all_— that she wants to know and her throat runs dry. This might be the only chance she has at finding out, at knowing him, without having it fall back on her like she cares, like she wants to. He's leaving tomorrow— actually today… not too many hours from now—and he'll _never have to know_ just how much he affects her. She can walk away from this unscathed.

_He'd_ thought of this game.

_It won't be her fault— won't mean anything—if she gets what she wants out of it. _

"All right," Emma tentatively says, throwing herself to the lions— _or maybe she means walking out on the plank_— "I'll play."

But there's something small, seemingly insignificant that hits her, "There's just one thing I don't get," she says.

Hook gives her a questioning look.

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"How do you win?" she asks.

And in the moment that the warning crosses over his face, making her feel inexplicably anxious and undeniably afraid she's made the wrong choice, she barely notices Ruby replacing their drinks.

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"Believe me," Hook says, looking a little wary himself, "You'll know if you've won."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count: **1895

**Author's Note: **3/25/13. So we're shifting into the game now :). Also, this story is taking me wayyyyy longer than anticipated lol. Enjoy the update.

* * *

**vi.**

_"It isn't easy for me to let it go_  
_Cause_  
_I've swallowed every single word_  
_And_  
_Every whisper, every sigh_  
_Eats away at this heart of mine."_

- "Sweet Nothing" -Calvin Harris

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_But in the end it'll just be a game... right?_

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"So how do you want to start?"

"By all means, go right ahead," Hook says, elbows on the table, hand over hook.

"You're letting me go first?" Emma asks, doubtfully.

One always expressive brow arches, "Gentleman," is all he says in answer.

Emma rolls her eyes.

After a moment, when it is clear that he's being completely serious, Emma sinks back in her seat, tapping her nails on the table and studies him. He matches her gaze, entirely unbothered by her scrutiny.

She can say _anything_, Emma realizes, anything that she wants and anything that she's ever questioned, find out about some of mysteries she's pondered are hidden behind the dangerously hazy blue of his eyes.

She swallows.

Hook looks like he's holding back a smile as he takes a sip of his drink.

"Anytime now darling."

Emma huffs, opening her mouth.

_She hesitates._

"You hate Mr. Gold."

_He doesn't._

"And you love the odd little trespasser you have for a son. Let's be serious love."

"Hey," Emma says in warning, a frown forming on her face. She clenches her fist, "Watch it. Don't call Henry—

"Then don't play the game like a coward," Hook interrupts, taking an almost absentminded swig of his drink— _she was right after all. he does hate Gold. That much will never change._

Emma huffs again.

_Fine_, she thinks, feeling chastised and little caught. She doesn't blush but does feel her skin heat a bit—_ and okay maybe saying he hated Gold was a bit of a cop out, like saying grass was green or the earth spun… but then Emma pauses because— **does it**? That is, spin. Here in the real world, of course it does, but considering all the other worlds that apparently exist…? How much is different? How much truth and fact become fiction? Is the real world even really the **real world**?—_ but then she's stumbled off course and trailed off into thoughts that make her question things, make her lightheaded, thoughts that when she acknowledges them makes her head spin. Because Emma is apparently a savior but she is still so small and insignificant in the scheme of all things, they all are, but that is far too much to be thinking about right now whilst playing a somewhat childish drinking game in a bar in the middle of the night with Captain Hook—Emma shakes her head, almost laughs.

So she'd hesitated. It won't happen again. It's just that she'd been struck with a thought.

_What if the things she wants to know are better left unsaid? _

What if she finds out that who Hook truly is… is irredeemable, is so much worse than what she'd imagined… but more importantly (_more frightening, more confusing_) what if what she finds out that he isn't so wicked at all?

What then?

_It's so much easier when she can think of him as a villain._

"And don't go taking it personal love," Hook says unprompted, catching her attention, "He did trespass on my ship and he is odd but when it comes down to all those I've encountered in this world so far and who I wouldn't mind in my company, your lad comes in a close second… after you, of course," he smirks with a wink.

She behaves as if unaffected, levels Hook with a dull look but there's tension in Emma's back that ebbs away at his words and her frown lessens too (because for some reason the thought of him thinking negatively of Henry had bothered her even more than it should. )

But that's another thing and his words have brought up more than just that. It's probably only the alcohol making her question it but sometimes Hook and what he does, how he acts, makes absolutely no sense to her.

How does he decide which things to be blunt about and which things to hide? How much is too much when it comes to Hook? His scale is all off in Emma's opinion. He'll hide a kiss, behind the anonymity of the sleeping curse, apparently not bring it up,_ not even once_, as if it didn't even happen, though it's obvious now since he'd mentioned it that Hook believes Henry has told her about his little excursion onto the pirate's ship. Hook must know that Henry has told her about the kiss, that she _knows_ and still… he pretends?

And then he has no problems throwing out beautifuls and looking at her the way he does, or singling her out like she's different to him, and of course no one can ever forget the innuendos.

Suddenly Emma realizes that if she wanted to know she'd never really be able to tell how he feels… like actually, legitimately feels unless he wants her to. Sure, there was everything that happened on the beanstalk— _and everything always goes back to that doesn't it? When they were alone and all they had to depend on was each other and how well they'd been at doing it. How strange that was. How when it counted, she'd backed out_… — but after that it's sort of felt like just another game, thrown around insinuations, and sometimes what he's so bluntly offering her does not exactly sound like it comes with his heart. Not that she'd want it anyway, she hastily adds in her thoughts.

"You know that's actually kinda funny," Emma says quickly, both hands loosely wrapped around her glass, looking at him— _Not that I want it anyway, she repeats_— "Since Henry and I are the only two people that you've met here who are actually _from here._"

Hook's brows furrow and he pauses realizing the truth in it and then he's thinking it all over again, thinking over his plans, and his life, and leaving behind his revenge— _moving on._ And a second later he replies without thinking, "Well if everyone else here is even halfway like you, then maybe I could bare it after all," and though he's done it again, been bloody genuine, been himself with her— _and just how does that keep happening without his say in it?-_- Hook's more focused on how he actually may have meant it this time.

He could live with it.

He could _live. (he can't remember what that even feels like)_

It's quiet and this time, they're both thrown off, just staring.

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_And maybe Emma can tell how he legitimately feels but she's just too stubborn to admit it._

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"Your turn love," Hook finally says, making everything click back in place.

Emma leans back in her seat, looking away from him, taking a break and thinking about what she'll say this time. Her eyes find their way to the dark window at their side and she can see their reflections in it. Seeing them together—_ just sitting in the diner, over drinks, looking frankly like a couple that they are not_— doesn't look as abnormal as she thought it would and so she turns her attention to only herself.

She looks like the same old Emma— a petit woman, attractive enough, with a jagged edge. She comes off hardened, that is undeniable, and Emma can no longer remember a time when she hadn't. When was the first time that she looked into a mirror and the face gazing back had finally been missing the warmth and invitation that she'd wanted gone? It'd taken years to get that way and even now, after David and Mary Margaret, even after Henry, the only thing that has really changed is when she sees herself now she can add little descriptors she'd never gotten to back when she was young. Like how she has golden hair like her father's, her mother's chin (and she'll never quite get over that). Now that she thinks of it, she supposes her nose is a little like Mary Margaret's too and her eyes— she looks at them, narrows them.

—_her eyes?_

And then Emma's gaze flickers back to Hook and she remembers how he'd _known_, and how it had shocked the hell out of her, how she'd _wondered._

"When we were climbing the beanstalk, you knew," she virtually accuses.

But she's just jumped into it and so of course he's confused and not following, so she backs up.

"You knew that I'd grown up alone. You knew I was abandoned."

And something about Hook changes as she talks. It's minute, maybe like he's tied up loose ends, he sits a little straighter, his face is a little more blank, there's really no way to explain it but Emma tilts her head, her gaze narrowing again. She looks at him, _sees him_, recognizes him.

Because Emma does have golden hair like David's, a chin and maybe even a nose like Mary Margaret's, but her eyes… they are only hers, created over time, after living through her particular kind of hardship— except now, at this very moment, looking at Hook, it's like she's still studying herself in the diner window.

"It wasn't just that you'd seen it before was it?" she questions. His stare doesn't drop from her own and his face isn't giving anything away but she can vaguely see him spinning his glass in his hand again in her peripheral vision.

But she still hasn't stated anything yet as per the game's rules so Hook's not budging.

"You were abandoned too. You grew up an orphan. It wasn't just the lost boys," she finishes.

Hook doesn't do anything for a moment, just continues to look at her and Emma thinks maybe she'd been wrong but then he's briefly closed his eyes and his lips have raised in a small bitter smile.

And Emma can recognize that look too.

When his eyes open the look he gives her is half admiring and half resentful and she doesn't know what to think of it.

Hook ponders pointing out something else, something about that lost boys statement but that's not a part of the game. She'll have to be far more specific to get some things out of him. He releases one short breath of laughter.

"So now we're playing," he says, his voice a little tighter and he raises his glass as if in a toast before taking another— rather large—drink from it.

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Emma— _entirely unsure about how she feels and a little uncomfortable about having been right-_- feels the difference in the air, the tension, Hook's guard going up, and thinks she might understand what it could mean to win at a game like this.

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She also thinks she might know what it could mean to lose.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count:** 2569

**Author's Note:** 5/5/13 Sorry for the wait! Enjoy :)

* * *

**vii.**

_"We're not broken just bent"_  
_  
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- "just give me a reason" by pink

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_And if Emma thought she was dizzy before…_

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"You still have feelings for the crocodile's son."

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"… excuse me?" Emma asks, sure that she's misunderstood the pirate, positive that she'd heard him wrong, because if there was anyone she'd thought she'd ever have this conversation with— _anyone_— it would never have been him. "What did you just say?"

Hook's slightly guarded, slightly curious look doesn't change.

"My statement love. You have feelings for—what's his name again— Neal, is it?"

(Emma scowls. So this is it, is the first thing she thinks, giving Hook a narrow eyed glance over. Apparently, now that Hook's guard is up and now that something— _uncomfortable and staggering, personal and reeking of vulnerability_—has slipped out about him, he's not holding back any punches anymore. Straight for the low blows then, Emma stills. Because the second thing that occurs to her… is how_ the fuck_ does he even know?)

"Wait a second," Emma halts, throwing one hand up, "Hold on. How did you find out about me and— and _him_? The last I checked you were… cozying up with Regina and- and her—"

"—cozying up?" Hook interrupts, with an almost laugh in his voice.

And maybe that had been an interesting word for her to use.

"Aligning yourself, _whatever._ I don't know what you do," Emma answers back and she frowns because really,_ truly,_ she _doesn't_ know what he does. Maybe all that flirting and making her feel like they were a team was the way he was with everyone. Maybe he'd played her."But that's besides the point," she quickly diverts back to the topic at hand because Hook has caught her frown and she has just realized it was there for him to catch in the first place, "How…"—_but that's the wrong question isn't it?_—"_Who_ told you Hook?"

(And her hazy mind drudges up some completely impossible vision, a flash of Neal and Hook, sitting around and talking about her. An _"Oh Emma, yeah a decade ago we—"_ muttered as if it meant nothing— _because how could it have?_— followed by a _"Really, I wouldn't have taken her for the type of lass—"_ or an _"A thief you say? I could have definitely guessed that."_

And the image— the thought of the two of them speaking, even about simplicities or in innocent conversation like her misplaced mind has conjured up— spawns a pit in her stomach, she feels sick. Because it's wrong… somehow, isn't it? The two of them can't go together, like— like Neal represents her past and Hook is— he represents— well, _she doesn't know._ But she remembers the moment she'd realized it, staring into burning blue eyes and listening to a mouth declare to her "_Actually no_"— that they are nothing alike)

"You haven't figured that out by now?" the pirate sitting across from her asks, with his black eyeliner and leather and that stupid smile he gives when he thinks he's got the upperhand. And at first Emma thinks that he could hear her thoughts but then she remember her question. Emma is still too dizzy, far too dizzy for this conversation and way too dizzy to still be here with him.

_This whole thing had been a mistake._

But since Emma doesn't live like she has limits and she's always been a little more than stubborn, she shoots back a, "Just answer the question," anyway.

With a lick of his lips, Hook leans into Emma's space (like he can, like he belongs in it) and crooks a finger, asking her to do the same. There a glisten in his eyes and an air about him as if he's about to tell her some big secret, as if they _need_ to be close.

She doesn't call him out on it.

Instead, though Emma makes a show of it, rolls her eyes and huffs before she does, she still leans in as much as he beckons; hesitantly, but not as hesitant as it could have been.

(And Emma is sure it couldn't have been Charming or Snow who told because they'd have let her know. And not Rumple, because if those two had been anywhere near each other there would have been some kind of destruction she'd have heard about by now (even if she'd been sleeping for past two days or so) Maybe it was—)

"You," Hook whispers simply, putting her out of her misery. There's a smirk and then, "You know, sometimes you're a little too daft to be so brilliant."

Emma merely glares, focusing on the negative more than the compliment (she still hasn't quite figured out how to reply to those).

"Me," she echoes dryly.

"Aye, you gave it away," Hook acknowledges still leaning in closer than he needs to. "Though honestly," and he shrugs, "it wasn't very hard to tell."

Emma doesn't say anything back at first (and she tells herself that this has nothing to do with their closeness, the heat of his breath, or the way his eyes are roaming over her face… because Emma has yet to sit back either.) The next thing that leaves his mouth is a little quieter, said almost to himself as if he's just come to the conclusion himself (_and maybe this was the real secret all along_) "Nothing seems to phase you love, unless it has to do with matters of the heart."

This is what makes Emma pull away.

"Yeah, well…" she says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. But that's all she can think to say because the implications that Hook has figured this out, can see what bothers her, makes Emma's throat run dry.

Has he realized that he— that she might feel— _that he gets to her_—and wait… is she admitting that to herself now?

When had that happened?

"Then it's true."

And his voice is level. When did he back away as well?

"What's true?"

Hook's gaze drops and she follows where it lands to her reaching hand, fingers in the midst of searching for her drink. He is silent and his expression is closed off. He jumps so quickly back and forth and it confuses her that his guard seems to be up more than ever.

And then— _oh_, she realizes, the drink, she'd been about to, Hook thought—

And Emma runs his statement through her head again, considers what's true and nearly scoffs, because _technically-_-

"Yeah sure, it's true," she forces out between tight lips, knocking back her chosen poison. She watches him from the corner of her eyes as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sets her glass back down (she'll need another refill).

Hook's jaw clenches at the admission.

It's a reaction, one she's sure Hook never meant to show. And Emma's happy that at least she isn't the only one all the alcohol is effecting (she doesn't think to head on what the reaction _means_).

"I have _loads_ of feelings about him," Emma continues, disdain clear. She looks down at her empty glass and wonders how the words slipped out.

Maybe its because despite the strangeness of speaking of Neal with Hook, he might actually be the _only one_ that she can really _talk to_ about it. The only one, that is, that she can tell without having to worry about lectures or consequences or maybe a cane to the ribcage. Everyone else is family (even Rumplestiltskin) and most will try to make her feel better about it. _Emma just wants to get it off her chest. _

(And maybe… perhaps just a little bit, she might feel the need to explain just in case Hook— and she's guessing he had— thought she meant something else by feelings.)

No matter the reason, it's the first time since she's come back to town that she's let the derision and the bitterness that is pent up, all that she's been holding back, seep in to her tone. "If only you knew how much I've _felt_ about him for the last decade or so."

And really— Emma _is_ happy that Henry and Neal get along so well (every child deserves the love of their parents) and_ true_— Emma probably should've told Henry the truth about his dad the first time around. And when it comes down to it, Emma is even willing to admit that back in Manhattan she had messed up royally when she'd attempted to not tell Neal he had a son — _but still_— the venom in Emma's blood surges— _still._

Because even if all of that is true, which it is, and Emma has made mistakes of her own… how should _any_ of that excuse what_ he'd_ done? _Why is it that Neal's sins were just supposed to be forgiven and forgotten?_

Emma's frame—which seems smaller than it ever has before— stiffens in her seat and Hook watches as so many emotions flick across her face that he can't place them. He can see now—_finally_—why she'd left him on the beanstalk. There is so much that she has buried inside, so much pain and hurt that she's still dealing with, and it strikes him that he really has met someone just as damaged as himself. And it's entirely selfish of him, _wrong in so many ways,_ but it's comforting to know he's not alone.

But—

_What'd he do to you?_

And Hook doesn't realize that he's actually asked it aloud until Emma lifts her head— wary, tired, spent— and looks at him.

The question catches Emma off guard enough that she almost actually answers it.

"That's not a statement. Why don't you try and figure it out, since I'm apparently such an open book." (And she's being defensive again. Her tone is cold and biting. And maybe Hook is right. It is obvious. She does act differently.)

Hook actually sighs.

"He left you, that much is clear…_"—and fucking moronic, Hook thinks. If he had someone like Emma— strong, beautiful, intriguing and bright— he'd never be stupid enough to—_ "but there's more to it than that. Something_ worse_ I'd wager."

Emma just stares.

A second elapses and then Hook is watching Emma reach across the table— _slow and purposeful_— to grab the glass right out of his hand. She downs his rum, without blinking an eye.

It is the tenseness of her arm and the rigidness of her spine, that has settled in and taken over her form so naturally— _as if she's been merely pretending not to feel this way all the time_— that leads him to recall something she'd just recently said. A decade of ill will? The man had left her a decade ago.

And when clarity hits, Hook tenses too— the sharpened edge of his replacement hand carving an angry hollow into the table between them— and he still doesn't know all of the story but the part he's just figured out (because her son can't have been more than ten or eleven) is terrible enough.

_What kind of a coward would ever_— he begins to think angrily, but then again he was Rumplestiltskin's son. (And then Hook's heart constricts and a pit opens wide in his gut because there's a moment of _guilt_ when he thinks that maybe if Milah hadn't left with him, her son wouldn't have turned out as he had)

"It's my turn," Emma cuts in annoyed, not at him but with it all. She'd consented to playing this stupid game for a reason but she hasn't even gotten close to it yet. "You've guessed right and I've drank. So unless we're changing the rules or you're admitting defeat—" She let's this hang in the air.

And Hook knows that she's been cut open a little tonight and _so has he_ but he still can't back out now (even though he considers it, to spare her anymore grief). He'll just have to be more tactful, get to the point. What had happened to the curse? What was she hiding?

"—Sorry love. Not likely… but I'm afraid we've run out of refreshments nonetheless."

And unlike Hook, Emma thinks, who gives a fuck about tact.

"You're leaving," she says suddenly, not caring about the drinks or the rules or any of it anymore, "That's my statement. Is it true? You're just gonna up and leave, even after— _after what happened today_?"

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And Emma remembers _"actually no_" again, and how he and Neal are supposed to be different. She remembers waking up in a hospital bed— _and it seems like it happened lifetimes ago, not just this evening_— to too bright blue eyes with her heart feeling more full than it's ever been.

…But if he was going to leave— after the kiss, after what it meant, after true love; even if she doesn't want it and she doesn't _doesn'tdoesn't_… at least… not until she's _sure_— that he's worth it, worth the chance.

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That he's capable of proving her wrong.

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Obviously, Hook realizes, looking into Emma's determined eyes, he's not the only one who's trying to get to some point.

The only problem is, he has totally missed it.

And in the time it takes Hook to answer— because he's not sure that he should considering that _yes_, he was planning on leaving, but _maybe he wouldn't_ if he had a clue about what exactly Emma was referring to; and because she just seems so _expectant_ of him in this moment, wants something from him (and he doesn't know _what_ but he undeniably _aches_ to give it). He doesn't want to fail her— Emma begins to harden all over again.

And finally—(because in Emma's eyes he's already taken far too long)— Hook replies.

"It depends," he hedges uncertainly… because it's _true_— he doesn't know and because that is one of the first things he'd ever found out about her, that she won't settle for lies, and since he can't give her what he doesn't know she wants from him, he'll give her what he can.

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_It's not good enough._

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And it crushes Emma to know that she's still naive enough to get her hopes up.

Without a word, Emma abruptly gets up from the table, throws a few bills down in her wake to pay for her drinks, and turns to leave the pirate to do whatever it is he plans on doing with the rest of his life.

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When Emma stumbles, because— _oh right_, she _has_ been out drinking all night and the room _did look_ suspiciously off-balance, but apparently that'd just been her — Hook does not fail to catch and keep her from falling.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I am not ABC or Disney, so I own nothing, not Once Upon a Time or its characters. But if I did... ;)

**Title: **Backlash

**Summary: **In which Hook goes to see Emma in the hospital against other's warnings/wishes.

**Pairing: **Captain Swan, Emma x Killian Jones| Hook

**Word Count:** 2027

**Author's Note:** 6/7/13 sorry for the even longer wait! hopefully the next will come quicker. Enjoy :)

* * *

**viii.**

_"So we burst into colors, colors and carousels,_  
_Fall head first like paper planes in playground games"_

- "Starry Eyed" Ellie Goulding

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"You okay love?"

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Hook smells like rum and spice and saltwater. It's something unique, a scent so entirely _him_ and for the life of her, Emma cannot figure out _why_ it's as appealing to her as it is.

His arms are wrapped around her as he holds up her weight and Emma's heart is _racing._ Her skin is_buzzing._ Her stomach is tied up in knots.

She can't pinpoint when exactly his presence had started mattering so much (maybe it always had, she fears) What she does know, though, is that she wants for it to _stop._

"Okay… _enough,_" Emma forces out, pushing against his chest and doing her best not to look him in the face. It depends, she reminds herself, _dependsdepends, he'd said._"I'm fine."

Hook's grip loosens slightly but he doesn't release her. Instead he gives Emma a once over; taking in her flushed face, her tousled hair, her precarious footing in her boots, and raises one brow questioningly. "You sure? Maybe you should sit back down," and because he can't help himself when she's this close, he grins, suddenly lighthearted, his blue eyes focused on her face. Emma's stomach flips,"Thought you'd have a better tolerance love," he jokes.

Emma frowns. And maybe it's the fact that even with her "superpower" she can't make out if he really cares (and what kind of a superpower is it really, when it wont even fucking work when her emotions get in the way) — or maybe what it _really is_ is that she can't convince herself that he _doesn't_ (_no matter how much she tries to_)— that's getting to her so much.

But she can't take it anymore.

"I'm _fine,_" Emma snaps, repeating herself and ripping her waist entirely out of Hook's grasp. She takes a few, greatly unbalanced, but determined steps backwards, "I can handle myself," she spits, head spinning.

A look of confusion— and maybe hurt but Emma wont acknowledge that— flashes over Hook's face. It's gone a second later. "All right," he says slowly, silently lowering his outstretched arms. (And for a moment, despite the situation, Emma applauds that even though he'd been caught off guard, he'd managed not to run her through with his hook when she'd pulled away like she had.)

"Whatever you want," he answers back tensely. Meeting her disdain with the guard of an icy tone (because it's safer than meeting it with an affected one), "I'll remember how well you can handle yourself the next time you take a tumble _princess._"

Emma brushes herself off, still avoiding his gaze the best she can. A part of her knows he'd just helped her face avoid a collision with the floor but she still has no business feeling guilty._ He's_ the one who should feel guilty— "Yeah, make sure you do," she bites back.

(a pause)

His anger seems to be matched by exasperation.

"Did I miss something?" Hook asks, gesturing towards the lingering cash dropped on their table. Emma barely glances at it."I'm guessing that _that_," he continues, "along with your wonderful new attitude, must mean you're done then?"

Emma gives him a tight smile.

"I think I've had my fill for one night."

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And when she's gone, successfully managing to find her way out this time, there is no question that what she'd had her fill of was _not_ the rum.

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"So, through with me are you?" Hook shouts, following at her heels. "What? Things got too hard on you back there? You know the feeling wasn't exactly one-sided love!"

Emma doesn't bother turning to answer.

"One would think that you'd get the whole 'being done with you' thing when I let the door hit you on my way out."

As Hook laughs a bit (in a terribly humorless way) Emma wraps her arms around herself a little tighter. In her rush, (to flee— _to escape_) it just so happens she had left her coat behind. Emma can picture it, laying innocently in the diner booth, and it's unfortunate for her since it's now freezing outside. She had been right, of course, (about him, about the world, _about how foolish she is, about **everything**_) it had been going to storm and the winds and the rain seem to pick up more by the minute.

"Well if history proves right," Hook says, voice straining to be louder than the tempest, "We both know how much you love playing rough, you can't fault a man for being a tad confused."

She decides it's not even worth it to reply to that.

Suffice it to say, Emma is finding it really hard to storm away when Hook won't let her and a deluge of rain is blinding her with every heated step she takes. She's being soaked to the bone.

She has no idea how long he's going to keep at it. Despite that Hook is far more equipped for the weather in his long leather coat and he seems to be less inebriated than she is (she is not in denial that she is going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning), it shouldn't take very long. He obviously doesn't care that much. He is leaving her anyway (well, she guesses since "it depends"—whatever the fuck that means. And was that the first time she'd let herself think of it in that way, not just him leaving but him leaving her? she supposes she's not in denial about a lot of things).

"Don't think a little rain is going to discourage me Swan, I've_ lived_ at sea," Hook says as if he's read her mind, "This is a day at the beach for me love and the view your giving me walking off as you are… that's certainly _not_ a deterrent."

Emma's jaw clenches. She's honestly trying very hard to ignore him. For a second she even entertains the thought of knocking him out again but decides that it might be just a bit too childish for her tastes. She's not even going in any particular direction anymore, in fact Emma's sure she's heading in the complete opposite direction of her apartment but _anywhere_ is fine as long as it's anywhere that he _isn't._

Hook continues to follow, growing tense and upset at her valiant but utterly useless attempt to ignore him. He has yet to find out the things that he wanted to know and after all that has happened thus far tonight, he is no less determined to get the information out of her. Emma should know by now that once he's set his mind to something nothing is going to get in his way.

"If you were so sensitive you shouldn't have never played the game."

And Emma tries to let it bounce off her like she's allowed everything else to but it's just so— so maddening that this, _this_ is what's bothering him— this is what he's worried about. Emma closes her eyes briefly, clenching her fists. She _cannot_ believe—

When she spins to face him, it is with a look of incredulity on her face.

"Are you seriously still talking about that dumb fucking drinking game?" Emma shouts.

Hook tilts his head, taking in her irate visage mostly smug. Obviously he's satisfied that he's at least gotten her to speak and this just makes Emma that much angrier.

"We had a deal. I didn't take you as a quitter lass."

Emma's eyes are wild.

"This isn't a game Hook! I'm not playing, don't you get that?" And despite herself, Emma can feel a pressure behind her eyes, a stinging high in her nose. It wasn't a game to her. As much as she'd tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that she _didn't care_— and if even one tear falls, _someone_ will pay for it. "I _never_was!"

Her yell has the opposite effect that she thought it would. Hook doesn't back away like any sane person would but instead edges forward, stepping further into her space. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he's looking down at her with fire in his eyes and a look ripe with too many things to consider.

"Fine," Hook says, voice even but quiet. "It was never about the game… maybe it wasn't for me either, but that begs the question, why would _you_ agree to it? Or better yet, why did you not try and get rid of me the moment I appeared? You _wanted_ me there. Why?"

Emma watches a rain drop glide down his cheek into the stubble lining in jaw, breath catching, words lodged in her throat.

_I wanted you to prove that feeling how I feel isn't a mistake. _

_I wanted you to prove me wrong._

_I wanted **you.**_

Emma grinds her teeth together holding it all in.

"What makes you think I would care anything about you Hook?" Emma snaps, aiming for nonchalance, for carelessness— but even she can tell she's missed it by miles."Why would I _ever_ want anything from you? I was just bored and you were there."

Hook blinks and then looks away— _and for a second Emma thinks that maybe the ruse has worked, that maybe she's made him believe it and he will finally leave her alone, crawl his way out from underneath her skin_— but then he turns back giving her a grim smile.

"You might be good at telling when other people are lying Swan… but you're horrible at it yourself."

And— _really?_ Emma wants to spit at him, _really_ because this is the first fucking time she's heard of it in her 28 years of living and _lying_ and _manipulating_ and doing **_whatever it took_** to survive while she was alone.

But instead, she scoffs because that's the safer option.

"You're delusional," she replies, and she tries to turn away again— _she does_—but Hook reaches out and grabs her arm and he is lucky that he has grabbed her right because Emma is beginning to care less about the childishness of leaving him unconscious.

"And you're lying again," Hook whispers, blinking away the rain from his eyes.

"I'm not—"

But he cuts her off.

_"Tell me Emma."_

It's said in a different voice, in a voice that she wouldn't dare to call desperate because she wouldn't dare to question what that would mean. It feels as if he's pleading with her but Emma just— she_ can't._ Her free arm reaches over to where he's grasped her right one and she fists the handful of leather that makes up Hook's sleeve.

"Let me go Hook." And the words leave her lips as clear as anything ever has. Emma just wishes that she _meant_ them.

It is seconds, minutes, _hours_, that Hook seems to look at her after that, that he stares, seemingly searching for_ something_. And Emma keeps her face as blank as she can, bites her tongue to keep from spilling everything.

She can taste rainwater in her mouth and swears that there's a hint of rum, of spice, of saltwater. Her eyelashes are clumping together, their breaths are meeting in the middle as white smoke, twisting, mixing between them. Her heart is beating so loud in her ears that Emma can no longer even hear the storm.

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"No Emma, I won't," he finally says, voice calm and sure (like he'd finally found what he'd been looking for) and Emma's not exactly sure what they're even talking about anymore but she can feel the truth in it.

_He won't let her go._

But how can that be real?

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"How can you leave?" The words are hollow and soft. Emma doesn't like hearing herself sound this way but there's not much of a way around it anymore now is there? "How can you justify doing something like that, knowing that you broke the curse?"

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And the immediate crinkling of Hook's brow, of the confusion that settles so plainly on his face sends Emma's heart spiraling higher and higher—

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"… knowing that I did what?"

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End file.
